Act Three: Intervention
by Smidgie
Summary: AU. Exactly as the title says: Benvolio intervenes in Tybalt and Mercutio's battle, Tybalt intervenes in Romeo and Juliet's love. Obviously Romeo and Juliet. Begins in Act Three.


This was originally written for English class – the task was to create an AU for Romeo and Juliet. I figured it was wasted sitting sadly in a corner of my computer, now hat school is over for the year, so I thought, what the hell, and decided to publish it. No doubt there is many such on here, but hopefully this will be unique.

Due to time constraints (or possibly author laziness) the entirety of the Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet was unfortunately unable to be put into this story. Because of this, the story begins at Act III, scene _i_, when Mercutio, who is a hot-tempered fool, wishes to fight Tybalt. I have often wondered why Benvolio said or did nothing from when Romeo arrives until Mercutio is hurt. What if he had acted? What if Mercutio never fought Tybalt and was killed? What if Tybalt discovered that Romeo and Juliet were married? How would he react? This story is for all those people who cried at the end of Romeo and Juliet, Shakespeare in Love, etc. and wanted it all to end another way (and also for all those rabid Tybalt or Mercutio fans out there. You know who you are!).

**Disclaimer:** The Most Noble and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet was most certainly not written by me, as it was written four centuries ago, and I'm pretty sure I'd remember such a rather long life.

* * *

_Two households, both alike in dignity,  
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,  
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,  
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.  
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes_

_A pair of star-marked lovers stop the fight;_

_Whose misadventured piteous overthrows_

_Remove ill will when ill will's at a height._

_The fearful passage of triumphing love,_

_And the destruction of their parent's rage,_

_Which, but their children's love, nought could remove,_

_Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;_

_The which if you with patient ears attend,_

_What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend._

**ACT THREE**

The clash of steel sliding out of its sheath rang around the street. Romeo felt a cold flutter of fear in his heart. This was not how it was supposed to be!

Through a haze he heard Mercutio jeer and cursed. _Mercutio!_ his heart wailed. _Why dost thou tempt thy luck in this manner?_ "Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk?"

Tybalt seemed confused. "What wouldst thou have with me?"

"Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives; that I mean to make bold withal, and as you shall use me after, drybeat the rest of the eight. Will you pluck your sword out of his pitcher by the ears? Make haste, lest mine be about your ears ere it be out."

_Please deny, Tybalt, please have not the courage to fight one of the Prince's own,_ Romeo prayed. But he knew it was in vain. After that spiel of insults, Tybalt would fight for his honour. "I am for you." _No!_ A rush, a clang of metal, and Tybalt was circling, anxious for a fight.

"Gentle Mercutio, put thy rapier up." Romeo begged. His friend ignored him. A dangerously careless light shone in his eyes. Romeo appealed to Benvolio. "Benvolio, we must stop him! The Prince will order his death if he disturbs Verona's streets!" _And I cannot allow my friend to fight Juliet's cousin_, he added silently. Benvolio seemed torn as what to do. He looked at the circling Tybalt and battle-fevered Mercutio, and made his decision.

"Come sir –" Mercutio began, but never finished. Benvolio swung the wooden club down squarely on his head. Mercutio crumpled to the ground. Benvolio caught him and swung him over his shoulder. _Benvolio always had a singularly effectual way of getting things done._

"Romeo, we must away!" Benvolio bellowed. Tybalt was furious at losing his fight and advanced on Romeo, casually swinging his rapier hand over hand.

"'Tis not so much of a loss," he sneered. "I would rather fight you, Romeo, than the kin of the Prince. Draw, Montague dog!"

Romeo hurriedly swung up his sword as Tybalt brought his rapier down in an overhand swing, the steel sparkling like silver in the sun. " Then away, Benvolio!" he shouted. "Take Mercutio to my father's house! I shall meet thee there!"

"But –" Benvolio was torn between staying to help his cousin, or obeying and getting Mercutio to safety, who was now slung over his shoulder, slurring, "I see Queen Mab!"

"Do as I say!" Romeo shouted. Benvolio took one last agonized look at his cousin barely holding under Tybalt's angry onslaught of blows and then nodded, running through the streets of Verona supporting a dazed Mercutio.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Romeo slashed at Tybalt in vain. "Why fight me here, Tybalt?" he asked, nearing exhaustion. "Why dost thou fight here when thou knows that the Prince will order thine death or banishment for disrupting the peace of Verona? Listen to reason, good Tybalt! There is a reason I wish not to fight thee, a reason I wished not to tell but alas, you have left me no choice." He gasped in a gulp of air, wishing it was wine. "Thou art my cousin, and for that reason, I cannot fight you." He lowered his sword.

"Thou lie, Montague villain!" Tybalt replied, but he did not sound so sure. "How art thou my cousin, when thou art Montague and I am Capulet?" He slashed down, bringing the rapier up over his head. Romeo twisted away from the sharp metal and backed away.

"Through fair Juliet, thy own cousin, who not three hours hence has become my bride." The street became abruptly silent. Tybalt almost dropped his rapier in shock, but soon the surprise on his face darkened to pure rage.

"How dare thou spread such lies of my fair cousin Juliet! Shame on you, Montague, thou shall not receive mercy from me by citing her name!" He hacked at Romeo with fury. Unfortunately for Romeo, his aim was not affected by his anger. If anything, it was sharpened by it.

There comes a time in everyone's life where they have a choice between life and death. Romeo saw this as clear as day. If he stayed and fought Tybalt, he would die. Tybalt was far too good a swordsman. But if he ran, his honour would forever been tarnished. Romeo swung around and faced Tybalt, ready to fight to the death to protect his honour. But then, in his mind, he saw Juliet's smiling face change to anguish at the news of his death. He saw, so clear it seemed to dance before his eyes, her taking a dagger, kissing his cold lips, and ramming it through her heart.

"No!" he shouted. He would not fight Tybalt! He would not die and cause Juliet pain! He backed away from Tybalt, turned again and ran through the streets of Verona. He could hear Tybalt behind him, boots clomping on the cobblestones. Tybalt was older and more experienced, but he was faster. Fear made him faster still. He ran until he could no longer hear Tybalt's angry grunting and swearing. He ran until the sweat trickled into his eyes and blinded him with the salt.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Juliet!" Tybalt screamed as he stormed through Capulet's mansion. "Cousin Juliet! Where art thou?"

Juliet was in the orchard, happily talking to herself and waiting for night to fall. Tybalt took one look at the dreamy, contented look on her face and felt his suspicions confirmed. He stalked into the orchard. Juliet sat under a tall tree. "Juliet!"

Juliet looked up and smiled at the cousin she had always had a soft spot for, regardless of his willingness to fight and hot temperedness. "Good day, Tybalt," she said. "How fare thee this fine day?" Her smile faded at the barely contained rage in her cousin's eyes. "Is all not well?"

Tybalt chose not to answer directly. "Traversing the streets today, I came across rogues of the house of Montague." He did not admit he had sought them out. "Among them was a scoundrel, a villain, by the name of Romeo, son of old Montague. Perhaps you have heard of him?"

Juliet endeavoured to remain calm. Could her cousin know of her marriage to Romeo? Or was he stabbing in the dark, blinded by Montague hate and alit with battle fever. That must explain the flush in his cheeks, the light in his eyes. "So what if I have, fair coz?" she asked. "A dog of the house of Montague concerns me not, save to curse his name."

"Oh, I think this Montague concerns you much, Juliet my dear." He sat down next to her, under the shade of the tree. As a boy he had hid in this tree's branches away from his tutors. Now he must confront his cousin, the happy, pretty little child that had always looked up to him, even when he snubbed her and took her toys. "The Montague," it took all his effort not to curse on the name, "told me a very interesting story. Can you imagine what he told me, Jule?"

She shook her head vehemently. Tybalt smiled briefly at her courage.

"The Montague told me that he had wed a certain little cousin of mine. Now, I wonder who that cousin could be?" She looked at the ground and his rage flared. "WHO COULD THAT LITTLE COUSIN BE?" he roared. Juliet flinched away from him. He grabbed her chin and forced her face towards his. "YOU!"

She sniffed and her shoulders shook slightly. That was enough to suffuse him with guilt. He slipped an arm around her. "Oh, Jule," he sighed. Jule was his pet name for her – what he had called her when they were children. "Jule, Jule, Jule. What in God's name have you done?" He brought her head down to rest on his shoulder, and that simple action was enough to send her into tears.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The story came out – sometimes stintingly, sometimes in a rush of words. How she had met the Montague at her father's party, how they had met in the orchard afterwards, how Friar Lawrence had married them. At one point her nurse came in with an armful of cord and was stunned by the sight of her lady weeping on her cousin's shoulder. He sent her away, with orders to tell no one. Somewhere along the line he smoothed back her hair as she wept and told her all would be well. But in his heart he knew otherwise.

He knew full well his uncle wished for Juliet to marry the County Paris. Paris was a fine man, handsome, well moneyed, wellborn. Everything a woman could wish for in a husband (or so he'd been told, it was not like he knew what a woman looked for in a husband). But somehow he'd always known a man like that would never satisfy Juliet. As he listened to her broken, sobbing voice tell of how she loved the Montague, Tybalt swore he would help her be with him, come hellfire or brimstone.

He became aware that she had stopped her tale (and her tears) a while ago. He sighed and looked down at her. "Well, cousin, you are in fair straits this time,' he said. "Methinks your father will be not inclined to take this as well as he has other matters in the past." He smiled down at her. "But because you love this… Romeo," he pronounced the name with difficulty, "I will appeal to thy father to look upon this with favour."

Her head flew up, alarm in her eyes. "You cannot tell Father!"

"What else is there to do, Juliet?" he asked impatiently. "When are you going to tell him? A day? A week? Or whatever other date he chooses for you to wed the County Paris?"

She looked horrified. "But I do not wish to!"

"Dost thou think he will worry about that?" Tybalt snapped. "He will not. He will say, 'It is but for her own good', and that will be the end of it! No, we must find a way to reconcile him, or smuggle you out of Verona with the Montague."

Hope lit in her eyes, so strong for a moment he couldn't breathe. "Do you think it can be so?"

Tybalt sighed, knowing that in a few moments he would cross the point of no return. "I shall go to the Montague's house and speak with him."

"Wait, cousin! He comes here tonight."

"Tonight, Jule? What for?"

"We must… our marriage… the Nurse arranged it, Romeo will come to my chambers tonight, that was what the cords were for… it must be…" Juliet blushed bright red and Tybalt realised what she was too embarrassed to say. He winced slightly – the idea of his naïve little cousin consummating her marriage – and with a Montague! – was nothing short of alarming for him.

"Very well," he said tiredly. Suddenly all of this seemed very tiresome. He wished he'd never approached the Montague and been forced to learn this. "I will wait in thy chambers and speak with him there." He stood and brushed off his breeches. "Thee hath my solemn oath, upon my honour, that thy father will learn nothing of this." He strode off quickly so he wouldn't have to look into her thankful eyes.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The nurse entered the orchard, watching the retreating Tybalt stride away. "Marry, my lady, what business hath ye with yon Tybalt that makes him retreat with such haste?"

Juliet sank down against the gnarled tree trunk. "He knows, Nurse." Her tone made it clear what he knew about. "He knows. And, by God, he condemns me not for it." She turned her slim body towards the direction her cousin had walked away in, and smiled.

**ACT FOUR**

Tybalt was waiting that night when Romeo crept into Juliet's chambers. He climbed up over the balcony and Juliet ran to him. They kissed for a long moment, and Tybalt, feeling more than slightly disgusted, decided to make his presence known. "Spare me, Montague," he said, endeavouring to speak lightly.

Romeo froze and slowly looked at Juliet, a thousand questions in his eyes. She placed a restraining hand on his arm. "My love, he wishes to help us be together."

Romeo raised an eyebrow. "I must admit, that comes somewhat as a surprise."

"I do this not for you, Montague, but for my cousin," Tybalt snapped, wanting to make his position clear. "It causes her pain to be apart from thee, and I cannot abide her misery."

Romeo reluctantly nodded. "Very well," he said. "What dost thou have in mind?"

Tybalt introduced his plan with his customary bluntness, stating the facts. "Thou hast two choices. Tell thy parents of thy marriage, or leave Verona in such a fashion they believe thou to be dead. Soon they will be so grief struck they will want thee back, married or no."

Romeo and Juliet looked at one another. "The former, we cannot do," Juliet answered for the two. "But the latter…"

"Very well, the latter it is," Tybalt said brusquely. "Montague, tomorrow morning thou shall go to Mantua. Make thy excuses to friends and family. I will arrange for someone to meet thou there. They will shelter you. I will also arrange rumours that thou are dead. Juliet shall join you with all due haste." Tybalt glared at Romeo. "That is all." He switched his glower to his cousin. "You take care of her," he snapped. "If you hurt her…" He let the warning trail threateningly. He walked to the door. "I will inform your parents you have a sickness in the head that makes your nose run and head ache, and that you are to be disturbed under no circumstances."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Wilt thou be gone? It is not yet near day. It was the nightingale, and not the lark, that pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. Nightly she sings on yon pomegranate-tree. Believe me, love, it was the nightingale." Juliet stood wrapped in Romeo's arms, on her balcony. The curtains fluttered around them as she whispered in his ear, endeavouring to convince them both of something neither believed in.

"It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale. Look, love, what envious streaks do lace the severing clouds in yonder east. Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops. I must be gone, for if the Capulets find me here, they shall kill me. I must be gone and live, or stay and die." Juliet sighed, face pressed against his chest.

"Yon light is not day-light, I know it, I. It is some meteor that the sun exhales –"

"Jule, do not be a fool. It is unbecoming for someone of your bearing," Tybalt said, walking quickly into her chambers. Romeo looked up, still not used to be on speaking terms with the 'King of Cats'. "Your mother will be here in but a few moments. Out, out, damn Montague!" He pointed to the window with typical Tybalt snappishness.

Romeo and Juliet exchanged one last kiss – Tybalt looked away pointedly – and Romeo descended. Juliet's eyes stayed glued to his face until he disappeared into the distance. Tybalt put a hand on her shoulder. "Your mother, Jule," he reminded her gently.

"Aye," she said, distracted. He shook her gently. She faced him and smiled. "Thank you, cousin," she said.

"Yes, yes," he said impatiently. "Go to, you saucy girl!" But he was smiling. She was too. He swung one leg over the balcony and climbed down the way Romeo had. He heard his aunt's harsh tones and pitied Juliet. His aunt was a formidable woman. He whistled as he went about his morning.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Why, how now, Juliet!" Juliet's mother entered the room like a summer storm.

"Madam, I am not well," Juliet croaked from under the mountain of bedclothes she had buried herself under.

"Nonsense, child, thou art will soon be well. But now I'll tell thee joyful tidings, girl." Juliet's mother walked to the balcony, relishing the suspense. Her daughter would be so pleased to hear the news.

"And joy comes well in such a needy time," Juliet sniffed exaggeratedly, not really listening, thinking instead of Romeo. "What are they, I beseech your ladyship?"

"Well, well, thou hast a careful father, child. One who, to put thee from thy heaviness, hath sorted out a sudden day of joy, that thou expect'st not nor I look'd not for."

"Madam, in happy time, what day is that?" If her mother was so happy about it, it was best not to be too enthusiastic.

"Marry, my child, early next Thursday morn, the gallant, young and noble gentleman, the County Paris, at Saint Peter's Church, shall happily make thee there a joyful bride," Juliet's mother chirped happily.

Juliet, curled up in her warm nest, nodded absentmindedly. Marry… gallant, young, noble Paris… St. Peter's Church…. Joyful bride… MARRY?

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Cousin, we must hasten our plan!" Juliet said frantically. "Father has arranged for me to marry the County Paris on Thursday!"

Tybalt nodded. "Indeed we shall, Jule." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Do not fret, my dear," he said calmly. "I will make all the necessary arrangements."

Juliet hesitated. "There… may be someone who can assist us further. Friar Lawrence. He wed Romeo and I."

"Do you trust him?" Tybalt asked.

Juliet nodded emphatically. Tybalt sighed. "I shall accompany you to shrift."

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Juliet swept inside the cell, head held high. Tybalt followed. Paris and the man he assumed to be the friar were inside – no doubt discussing the wedding. From the steely look in Juliet's eyes, she knew that too.

"Happily met, my lady and my wife!" Paris said. He meant it, Tybalt could see. He really loved her.

"That may be, sir, when I be a wife," Juliet replied. It was a pity she couldn't see he loved her. Paris looked crushed at her reply.

"That may be must be, love, on Thursday next." Paris stated. Tybalt watched him try again.

"What must be shall be," Juliet responded grimly.

"That's a certain text," the Friar agreed. Maybe the man was for her.

Tybalt decided to interrupt this before Paris became suspicious. "Tybalt Capulet," he said, offering his hand to Paris, then the Friar. "I have seen both of thee about, but have not had the chance to speak with either of you." He looked over at Juliet. "Cousin dear, did you not have to confess to the good Friar here?"

Juliet nodded. Tybalt reciprocated the gesture to Paris. "You will excuse us." It was not a request. Paris nodded and kissed Juliet on the cheek.

"God shield I should disturb devotion!" the County replied. "Juliet, on Thursday early will I rouse ye. Till then, adieu; and keep this holy kiss."

He left and Juliet collapsed into a chair. "Good friar, this is my cousin Tybalt. He is for us."

The Friar scrutinized him closely, but evidently decided him worthy. He nodded to him. "A pleasure to meet you, Master Capulet."

"And you." Tybalt nodded. "You know of our plan?"

The Friar responded to Juliet. "Ah, Juliet, I already know thy grief. It strains me past the compass of my wits. I hear thou must, and nothing may prorogue it, on Thursday next be married to this county."

"On the contrary, good friar, it can be easily prevented." Tybalt replied for his cousin, seeing her on the verge of tears. "All we must do is get Juliet to Mantua." He quickly outlined the plan.

The Friar was slowly nodding when he finished it. "I have a plan. But do you have the mettle to slay yourself?

"I would rather leap, rather than marry Paris, from off the battlements of yonder tower," Juliet replied.

The Friar rummaged in an ancient looking chest and brought out a dusty vial. He held it out to Juliet. she accepted it with a trembling hand. "Take thou this vial, being then in bed, and this distilled liquor drink thou off. When presently through all thy veins shall run a cold and drowsy humour, for no pulses shall keep his native progress, but surcease. No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest. The roses in thy lips and cheeks shall fade to paly ashes, thy eyes' windows fall, like death, when he shuts up the day of life; each part, deprived of supple government, shall, stiff and stark and cold, appear like death.

"Thou shalt be borne to that same ancient vault where all the kindred of the Capulets lie. In the mean time, against thou shalt awake, shall Romeo by my letters know our drift."

Juliet drew in a shuddering breath. Tybalt decided to make his feelings known. "Juliet, as your cousin who wishes only the best for you, I refuse to let you do this."

She turned angry eyes on him. "Speak not to me of letting! If this is how I must 'scape a marriage to Paris, so be it! Give me, give me! Tell me not of fear!"

Tybalt sighed. "If you wish to do this, so be it. But I will wait in the tomb with thee so if all goes ill thou shall have I for comfort when thee wake."

"I'll send a friar with speed to Mantua, with my letters to thy lord." Friar Lawrence said. Juliet looked slightly frightened now.

"Love give me strength! And strength shall help afford. Farewell, dear father! Come, Tybalt!" She walked out, head held high and face proud.

Tybalt looked at the Friar with menace in his face. "You do know that if this fails and she dies, your life will be forfeit. A Capulet always collects his dues, but the Montague will probably kill you first for killing his beloved wife. So keep that in your thoughts when she takes that drug, for I do not believe I will tolerate her death well." He smiled grimly and followed his cousin.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Juliet sailed into the main hall of the Capulet mansion confidently. She knew what she had to do – fool her parents. She had done it dozens of times before, only this time the stakes were much higher.

"How now, my headstrong! Where have you been gadding?" her father asked, half angrily, half jokingly. She could feel Tybalt behind her – a solid, comforting presence at her back. As he had always been.

"Where I have learn'd me to repent the sin of disobedient opposition," she began. "To you and your behests, and am enjoin'd by holy Laurence to fall prostrate here." As she fell to her knees, she wondered if they believed her, "And beg your pardon! Pardon, I beseech you!" She injected just the right note of hysteria into her voice. She could feel Tybalt's approval. "Henceforward I am ever ruled by you." She wondered if it was possible for anyone to be more self-absorbed than her parents.

"Send for the county; go tell him of this!" her father exclaimed delightedly. "I'll have this knot knit up to-morrow morning."

"I met the youthful lord at Laurence' cell," Juliet said, trying to both look penitent and maidenly shy. "And gave him what becomed love I might, not step o'er the bounds of modesty."

"Why, I am glad on't," Capulet said with a fatherly smile. He grasped her hands and pulled her to her feet. "This is well: stand up! This is as't should be. Let me see the county, ay, marry, go, I say, and fetch him hither. Now, afore God! This reverend holy friar, our whole city is much bound to him."

"Nurse, will you go with me into my closet, to help me sort such needful ornaments as you think fit to furnish me to-morrow?' Juliet asked.

"No, not till Thursday; there is time enough," Juliet's mother replied.

"Go, nurse, go with her: we'll to church to-morrow," her father said at the same time. Her mother sighed as the nurse left. Tybalt moved forward.

"Well handled, my uncle," he said. "You have her well in hand, and tomorrow she will be wed to a fine gentleman."

"I hope so, my nephew," Capulet replied. He looked at his wife. "Come, wife, let us prepare for tomorrow." He and Lady Capulet walked away, but then back quickly. "Nephew, have you heard the news? Romeo Montague is dead. Killed by thugs in Mantua." He smiled as he walked away. Tybalt smiled too. His plan was working.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Juliet watched as her mother and nurse left the room. Terror tickled butterflies in her stomach. "Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, that almost freezes up the heat of life. I'll call them back again to comfort me. Nurse! What should she do here? My dismal scene I needs must act alone. Come, vial. What if this mixture do not work at all? Shall I be married then to-morrow morning? No, no: this shall forbid it: lie thou there." Her heart was beating thousands of time quicker than usual, she was sure of it.

"What if it be a poison, which the friar subtly hath minister'd to have me dead, lest in this marriage he should be dishonour'd, because he married me before to Romeo?" she wondered out loud.

"Well, if that be the case, both I and your Montague will kill him," her cousin stated as he walked into your room. She flew into his arms, seeking human contact.

"Oh, Tybalt! What if I wake in the tomb early and stifle to death by the unhealthsome air that lies trapped inside the vault?"

"Well, then, I will die too, as I shall stay with you, cousin," Tybalt replied. He (slightly uncomfortably) stroked her hair. He was unaccustomed to physical contact. "All will be well." He picked up the vial (still thankfully sealed) from where she had dropped it. "Lie in your bed," he said, taking the cork out and passing her the vial. "I will be with you when you wake."

She lifted the vial to her lips and weakly smiled. "Romeo, I come! This do I drink to thee." She drank the contents in one and at once fell back onto her pillows.

It was more alarming than he would thought, to see her fall back like that, so limp like a child's doll. He tucked her in gently and stroked a lock of dark hair back. She was still warm. He left, blowing out the single candle that lit the room, and went to wait a sleepless night in his room till dawn.

**ACT FIVE**

"Mistress! What, mistress! Juliet! Fast, I warrant her, she!" The Nurse's grating tones echoed through the house. She seemed to believe her right as Juliet's nurse meant that one Juliet's wedding morn she could wake the entire house with her screeches.

"Why, lamb! Why, lady! Fie, you slug-a-bed! Why, love, I say! Madam! Sweetheart! Why, bride!" Tybalt stretched_. I must have fallen asleep in my chair_, he thought tiredly. _Why would I do that?_ "What, not a word? You take your pennyworths now. Sleep for a week, for the next night, I warrant, the County Paris hath set up his rest, that you shall rest but little." _That woman has no decorum,_ thought Tybalt absentmindedly. _Jule must be sound asleep not to wake to her shrieking._ Something in his mind twigged. Jule… sleep…

"God forgive me, marry, and amen, how sound is she asleep! I must needs wake her. Madam, madam, madam! Ay, let the county take you in your bed. He'll fright you up, i' faith. Will it not be?" Oh, God. Juliet! Paris! The vial! Tybalt leapt from his chair, cricked his neck, cursed, rubbed it, and sprinted to Juliet's room.

By the time he got there, the Nurse had discovered the inevitable. "Alas, alas! Help, help! My lady's dead! O, well a day, that ever I was born! Some aqua vitae, ho! My lord! My lady!"

His aunt entered quickly, exchanged terse words with the nurse, and then saw her child. "O me, O me! My child, my only life, revive, look up, or I will die with thee! Help, help! Call help!" she screamed.

Tybalt had to admit, the sight was distressing even for him, who knew the truth. He gently touched her arm. She was cold to touch. He dragged his hand away as though burnt.

His uncle arrived; a jumble of voices washed over him. "For shame, bring Juliet forth; her lord is come!" his uncle bellowed, but then fell abruptly silent at the sight of his daughter.

The Nurse was already tipping back a strong drink to 'help with the shock'. "She's dead, deceased, she's dead; alack the day!" the woman shouted.

"Alack the day, she's dead, she's dead, she's dead!" His aunt seemed to be even less articulate, though not on the way to intoxication.

Capulet scorned them. Foolish women. It would be too much, to arrange this marriage, to get his daughter to finally acquiesce, and then to have her drop dead? Unheard of! "Ha! Let me see her!" His merriment faded. "Out, alas! She's cold. Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff. Life and these lips have long been separated:  
Death lies on her like an untimely frost upon the sweetest flower of all the field."

He couldn't take it anymore. Tybalt rushed out of the room. Despite their weeping, none (except perhaps the Nurse) really cared for Juliet like he did. He had given up his hatred of the Montagues for her! It… hurt, to see her that way. Tybalt rested his head on the stone of the orchard wall. He could hear a jumble of voices from above and tried to convince himself that the water trickling down his face was nothing more than sweat.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

"Did you send off the Friar?" asked Tybalt dully. He sat in Lawrence's cell holding a glass of untouched brandy.

"Yes," Lawrence said, tossing back a glass. "They are getting her ready for the internment." Tybalt didn't respond. There seemed nothing more to say. He lifted the glass to his lips. He couldn't taste. He felt as dead as Juliet. He watched the friar fill another glass of the amber liquid.

"Is it not against some sort of holy creed for you monks to drink brandy?" he asked with a trace of unholy amusement, given the day. _Nice choice of words there, Tybalt my lad… _Lawrence grinned.

"Actually, I'm just a friar," the other man said, raising his glass in a mock toast. The two men sat in silence for some time.

A man wearing the habit of a Friar walked into the cell. He carried a letter in dust stained hands. "Holy Franciscan friar! Brother, ho!" he greeted.

"This same should be the voice of Friar John. Welcome from Mantua: what says Romeo? Or, if his mind be writ, give me his letter." Was it just he, or did Tybalt detect a hint of anxiety in the man's tone? _Perhaps 'tis just the alcohol, _Tybalt thought,_ that makes him so._

"Going to find a bare-foot brother out one of our order, to associate me, here in this city visiting the sick. And finding him, the searchers of the town, suspecting that we both were in a house where the infectious pestilence did reign, seal'd up the doors, and would not let us forth; so that my speed to Mantua there was stay'd," the Friar said. Tybalt heard only one phrase: would not let us forth.

"Who bare my letter, then, to Romeo?" Lawrence asked, more urgently. Tybalt stared at the murkiness of his brandy.

"I could not send it – here it is again – nor get a messenger to bring it thee, so fearful were they of infection."

Tybalt could not believe his ears. "YOU COULD NOT SEND IT?" he roared. His anger surprised him most of all. He threw the brandy down his throat, swearing.

"Where art thou going, Tybalt?" Lawrence asked in alarm.

"The Capulet monument."

"But why and in such haste?"

"Because," Tybalt said, half running out the door, "Romeo is a Montague. Montagues are foolishly noble, much in the manner we Capulets are cold and cunning. No doubt he has heard of my fair cousin's 'death' and has gone to her tomb to do something foolishly noble, like kill himself."

"No!" said Lawrence in horror. But Tybalt had gone.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

He ran through the streets like a commoner. He didn't care about shame anymore. He could see the Capulet monument up ahead and, thankfully, no blood. It had not been long. The forty-two hours had not elapsed. Yet.

He ran inside the monument and gasped a sigh of relief. The monument was empty. Juliet lay nearby, as cold as the stone she lay on, but almost inhumanly beautiful. Tybalt settled down to wait on a nearby stone platform that must house the remains of some ancient Capulet relative beneath. His eyelids drooped. He wouldn't sleep. Couldn't sleep. But surely there was no harm in just closing his eyes. Just for a few moments. Surely there was no harm. Surely…

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The clash of steel on steel was a painfully familiar one for Tybalt and he was awake like a lightning strike had hit him. He could almost tell the strikes taken by both sides – slash, parry, overhand strike, high block, _passado_…

A break in the sword fighting, a gasp, a few muttered words. "If thou be merciful… lay me with Juliet…" More words, speech, eloquent in tone but indistinguishable. The door to the tomb opened. Romeo Montague entered, dragging a body. With a start of horror, Tybalt recognised Paris, blood oozing gently from a wound in his side, leaving an eerie trail on the rough floor. The County's eyes were frozen open in eternal sleep.

"For shame, Montague, what have thou done?" Tybalt demanded, now fully awake. He strode over to Romeo and the shell that once housed Paris, staring with a kind of morbid fascination. He had seen the dead before – hell, he'd done his fair share of killing – but they never failed to captivate him. _That's probably highly unnatural_, he thought with a wry grin, _but holy hell be damned, I cannot help it._

"O cousin Capulet, leave me with my grief," Romeo replied, walking with stooped shoulders to the stone bed where Juliet lay.

"Romeo." Tybalt seized the grief struck fool by his shoulders and shook him. "Did thou receive Friar Lawrence's letter?"

"Nay," Romeo answered, staring at Juliet with the kind of morbid fascination Tybalt himself has looked upon Paris with. "I received word of Juliet's death by my man, Balthasar." He tore free of Tybalt and knelt by Juliet. "I beg thee, Tybalt, if thee ever had love for Juliet, leave me now. I must join her." He brought out the vial of poison from a pocket.

_I hit near the mark in believing he would be game to end his life_, Tybalt thought. _Fool Montague!_ "Romeo, all is as not it seems." He drew a deep breath. "Juliet is not dead."

The Montague froze, but then he laughed humourlessly. "Juliet was wrong when she believed thee to be a good man, Tybalt. Thou art a coward, and a liar." Romeo lifted the poison, removing the cork.

"No!" Tybalt snatched the vial away form Romeo and poured it onto a nearby plant. It withered in an overly dramatic way. He would have laughed, were he not game to cry. "Friar Lawrence gave her a potion to drink that would make her seeming dead. We were to smuggle her to Mantua to be with thee, but the letter the Friar said was waylaid by quarantine."

"Speak to me not of these lies!" Romeo exclaimed angrily.

"Damn thee, Montague! I care for Juliet as much as thee do!" Tybalt retorted. "I do not lie. Juliet lives!"

Romeo seemed to have trouble processing Tybalt's words. "But… she is cold," he said slowly. "She breathes not and her pulse is fixed."

"Ay, ay, 'tis the draught that makes it so," Tybalt said, feeling a twinge of remorse for being so rough. "But she shall soon wake."

They stood in silence for a few minutes that seemed a lifetime. Tybalt noticed first. Juliet was stirring. Very little, perhaps, almost unnoticeable and certainly would not be had he not been watching her with such concentration. Romeo soon noticed it as well. He drew in a shuddering breath and his shoulders shook. Tybalt pretended not to notice.

But he could not prevent a gasp when her eyes flicked open and she sat up. He refused to acknowledge the emotion filling him as relief. She caught sight of Romeo and rushed into his arms. Tybalt rolled his eyes. This he could handle.

"Oh, Jule. I thought thee were dead!" Romeo muttered in a voice broken with relief against her hair. She said naught, but wrapped her arms around him tighter.

Tybalt stepped forward as they released each other. "Come, cousins, thee must away," he said. He nodded to Juliet. "I am right pleased to see thee well, coz. But now thee must flee, to Mantua."

They ran out together, hand in hand. He could hear the watch bells tolling. He watched them go. He probably should care, but all he felt was emptiness.

* * *

I wrote this because I love the character Tybalt, and hated how the play portrayed him and that he died in the end. So I thought, what if he had a stronger relationship with Juliet than was mentioned? And, in turn, what if that relationship was enough to him to break his hate of the Montagues? Hey, its just speculation.

Thanks for reading. Please leave a review in the mailbox.

Ta,

Smidgie


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